Page 7

7

ERIK

“ L et me look at you.”

Anastasia’s face is pinched with tension.

Her brow knits close together as she sets down the bloodied knife, and when I reach for her shoulder, she immediately shrugs me off.

“I’m fine.”

I’m not taking no for an answer, not this time.

“Anastasia.”

As she turns back to the bound and bloodied captive secured to a metal chair behind us, I catch her wrist and tug her a few steps closer to me.

Her pulse races against my fingertips, and the flash of annoyance in her eyes when she looks at me melts into something unexpectedly soft when I place my fingers against her cheek.

“Stop.”

“We don’t have time for this,” she replies, her eyes darting back and forth between mine.

“I want answers.”

“He’s not going anywhere. And he hurt you. Let me look at you.”

Her lips part slightly, and the hesitation is evident across her face.

Even her wrist tenses under my grip as her fingers flex back and forth.

But after a few seconds of staring at each other, she relents with a half-nod and her shoulders slump.

Anastasia leans back against the table and places her hands on either side, gripping tightly until her knuckles turn white.

Gently, I skim my fingers over the rising bruise under her left eye from where the assassin struck her in the face.

It’ll turn into a bad bruise within a day or two, but from the tender pressure from my fingertips, it doesn’t feel like the blow broke anything underneath.

Her eyes close briefly, eyelashes sweeping across my thumb as I caress under her eye.

“Does it hurt?”

She makes a negative noise in the back of her throat.

“Not right now.” Then her eyes open and she fixes me with an intense, bright-eyed stare.

This close, I can see even the finer details of her eyes.

In all my time admiring her from afar, I never noticed the dark-green flecks in her irises that melt into the lighter green and give her eyes a unique glittering effect.

It’s beautiful.

She’s beautiful.

My heart gives a sudden powerful thump beneath my chest, and I tear my gaze away, focusing on the rising bruising around her throat.

These kinds of thoughts are dangerous, especially about Anastasia.

She’s my boss.

Worse than that, she’s my target.

Viktor would feed my balls to the hounds if he knew I found anything even remotely appealing about her.

Lowering my hands, I press both sets of fingers to either side of her jaw.

Anastasia obediently lifts her head and exposes the dark shadow of bruising forming around her throat.

There’s a darker streak in the middle of her neck where that bastard’s thumbs were digging deep enough to cause serious injury.

The sight of it heats my blood, and the urge to pound his face into a pulp rises with each passing second.

“How does it feel to swallow?”

“Sore,” Anastasia replies tightly.

“But I can handle it.”

I hate that.

She shouldn’t have to handle it.

He never should have gotten his hands on her, but yet again, I failed in my duty to protect her.

These injuries are marks against my name, wounds of my failure.

I tenderly brush over the bruises, examining her with what little medical experience I have.

Her skin is soft to the touch and as warm as the first bursts of sun on a hot summer's day.

“See?” Anastasia lowers her chin and our eyes meet once more. “I’m fine.”

I can’t tell if it’s wishful thinking or my imagination that her pulse jumps beneath my fingers when our eyes meet, but I feel the ghost of that sensation when she steps away from me, and my hands fall back to my sides.

“We should take you to the hospital to be sure.”

“Not now.” Anastasia snatches up the hammer from the table. “I’m not finished.”

Admiration warms my chest while I watch her return to the bound and bloodied man. Never in a million years would I have suspected that the ice princess was capable of getting her hands dirty, but the evidence is undeniable. Under her instruction, we brought her attacker to a warehouse off the main road, and we’ve spent the past two hours simply breaking him down.

She’s gotten her revenge three times over for what he did to her, and still, she wants more. Watching her work is a thing of beauty, and when I questioned her after she broke all ten of his fingers with ease, she explained that being left to her own devices as a teen was how she learned. In a bid to impress her father, she read up on countless forms of torture from all over the world and practiced on a few rogue goons who made their way into her path.

She’s methodical and calm, which strikes up an alarming contrast to the man screaming himself raw as she peels back the skin on his thigh and pours another few drops of her perfume into the wound.

I don’t ever want to get on her bad side.

It’s admirable how well this man is taking the torture, but everyone has a breaking point. He finds his ten minutes later when she shreds his underwear and threatens to pulverize his cock into meat.

“Alright!” he screeches, his voice raw and wrecked. “Alright! Please! Stop, stop, you fucking maniac.”

“That’s not very nice,” I say as I walk closer. “You should speak to her with more respect.”

“Manners cost nothing,” Anastasia agrees, wiping away a bead of sweat from her forehead.

“Whatever!” The man gasps desperately. “I did it! I caused the explosion and I started the fire.”

“No shit,” Anastasia scoffs, and she moves closer, then drops down to her haunches in front of him and taps the hammer against his bloodied knee. “This is the moment you tell me something new.”

“L–Like what?”

Anastasia sighs. “If I knew that, then it wouldn’t be something new, would it? Is this really the kind of people they send after me?” She shoots me an amused look, and my heart jumps.

“Let’s start with who hired you,” I prompt. “Got a name?”

“Nah.” The man gasps and rapidly shakes his head. “I just got hired. They sent me two-fifty and a picture. Told me to make it look like an accident.”

“Bringing down a building is a pretty big accident,” Anastasia remarks.

“Well, it’s pretty simple.” He whimpers. “Big area, lots of damage. Lots of people get hurt. Easier to believe that it’s an accident.”

“But you fucked up,” she says.

His eyes dart down to her throat, and I can see the cogs turning. He’s playing out in his mind what would have happened if he’d just grabbed Anastasia tighter and snapped her neck instead of strangling her. My hands curl into fists and my teeth snap together as Anastasia stands up.

“So, who paid you?”

“I can’t,” he gasps wetly. A river of crimson drools past his bloodied lips.

“Who paid you?”

“I have a reputation?—”

“You think you’re walking out of here with anything like a reputation intact?” She scoffs sharply, using the hammer to lift his chin. “The only thing between you and survival is what I want. And I want to know who paid you.”

His refusal to answer turns into a twenty-minute session of Anastasia breaking his kneecaps, popping one of his balls—which was painful for both of us—and ripping out three teeth before he breaks. He crumples while weeping and slurs out his bank account details.

Stepping back, I type the details into my phone and log into his account where sure enough, the payment is there from yesterday.

“Лучик,” I read out.

“Sunray?” Anastasia translates. “What is that, a company?”

“No, it’s not a company account. It looks like a personal account.”

Anastasia walks up to me and peers over my shoulder, studying the details on the screen. “Wow,” she murmurs. “Dude, you order too much DoorDash.”

Our captive doesn’t reply.

“Can you find out who this account belongs to?” she asks, looking up at me.

I tap through to the details, but other than numbers, there’s nothing identifiable about the account. “Not through the app,” I reply. “But I can start digging.”

“Alright…” Anastasia sighs deeply. “Let’s end this.”

No sooner do the words leave her than a snap echoes through the room. Our captive lunges upward from his chair, wrenching his arms free from his bindings. Several things happen in the next few seconds.

He lunges at Anastasia in a weak, ruthless attempt to try and get to her. I turn and snatch my gun from the table, and when I turn back, Anastasia is already knocking the man to the ground and stabbing a scalpel repeatedly into his throat. Blood sprays like a fountain from the wounds, and his weak hands scramble against her chest and shoulders. From here, I glimpse the thumb he dislocated to help him escape.

Blood sprays over the floor and all over Anastasia, splashing over my shins as I lower my weapon. The man dies within seconds, gurgling out his last insults that sound more like water being dragged down the drain. Anastasia remains seated on him with the scalpel in her hand until he stops moving. Then she slowly climbs to her feet with a groan.

“He ruined my shoes,” she murmurs, turning to look at me.

Her entire form is drenched in blood, but her eyes stand out like bright lights in the dark. Then she smiles.

It’s a small smile of relief, perhaps born from finally having some kind of lead toward who is trying to kill her. What strikes me the most, however, is how beautiful she looks. Like life itself has suddenly been injected into her and there’s a new vibrancy in her.

Or I’m just seeing it for the first time.

Before, Anastasia was just the ice princess—my boss with no care for anything and the top suspect on Viktor’s list.

Now, she’s Anastasia with gorgeous eyes and a cute smile, and she makes my heart skip a beat.

Shit.

Am I falling for her? There’s no way feeling this strong is a crush. No way in hell.

Our eyes meet, and I search for something to say, but nothing comes. Anastasia steps away from the body but stumbles when her foot catches on his leg. My hand darts out to catch her, and a jolt of electricity snaps through my body the moment her hands touch mine.

Say something, you fool .

I can’t. She looks at me with hooded eyes and a gaze so intense it’s like she’s peeling me apart from the inside.

Then she stumbles into my chest and her lips crash against mine.